Forget the World
by sarijw
Summary: 9Rose. For the first time, in the past six years, she’d woken up without the sharp, keening blade of his betrayal. And it was betrayal, because he had not only let himself die, but he’d forbidden her from the pleasure of doing so.
1. Living in a Rut Isn't So Bad

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing. I have to confess, though, I do have CE locked up in my closet until he promises to take me 'round the universe but so far all I can get out of him is "daft nutter." But it's okay, I can be patient. He can only be naked for so long, don't you think?

* * *

And one not-so-very-special morning, Rose Tyler awoke. She felt strange, disconnected.

Blearily staring around the sparsely decorated bedroom, she tried to discover the source of what had awakened her. Nothing was out of place in the dim room, save the clothes she'd strewn across her deck and armchair the night before. Glancing at the clock, she realized that she'd woken hours before her alarm before remembering it was Saturday and it wouldn't have gone off anyway.

Shrugging, rubbing a hand over her pale, bare face, she pushed back the covers. Almost immediately she pulled them back again, burrowing deep to block the ice-filled air from entering the deep confines of her warm and cozy bed. Darting a thin, pale hand into the arctic air, she grabbed the remote for the television she kept in the corner, flicking it on.

She only half-listened to the weatherman droning on about the cold front that had moved through during the night and so only half-cared.

It would change. Weather did, it wasn't a constant.

And so it would change and this not-so-very-special morning would become a not-so-very-special today, evening and night. The only constant was that there was no constant and this helped Rose Tyler sleep at night.

Shoring up her resolve, she shoved back the covers and dashed across the room to grab a jumper from the closet. Grabbing a pair of socks from the top drawer of her bureau, she sat on the edge of her queen-size bed to tug them on.

Wrapping the two sides of her tan cardigan around small frame, she padded through the dark flat to the kitchen. She flicked on the overhead light to combat the gloom, blinking a bit at the glare.

She filled the kettle with water before flicking it on and went to look out the window while she waited for the kettle to boil.

And then she remembered.

She glanced at the calendar, just to make sure she had the date right. She'd stopped writing it on her yearly calendars, years back, but it wasn't as if she'd forget, was it?

"Six years," she said to herself, because who else was with her? She looked at the clock on the stove and mentally corrected herself. Six years in about eight hours, anyway.

Six years since she'd last seen the man she loved, the only one she'd loved. Six years since he'd forced her back here with no way to get back to him.

And then she realized why today was a not-so-special day.

For the first time, in the past six years, she'd woken up without the sharp, keening blade of his betrayal. And it was betrayal, because he had not only let himself die, but he'd forbidden her from the pleasure of doing so. So she had to live without him.

But today, as she thought on it, it was dull. Bittersweet, like when you think of a friend you've not spoken to in years.

And that made it a special day indeed.

* * *

Rose Tyler nudged her aching feet out of her shoes as she sat typing. She knew the stiletto heels she habitually wore were a stupid idea, but she still couldn't stop herself from buying them.

And buying them led to wearing them so she wouldn't get a huge sense of buyer's remorse and take them back.

That was also a habit she'd developed.

She minded her own business, often turning her iPod up as loud as she could stand, to cover the chattering of her colleagues.

Women that spent their entire shift sitting and gnattering on about their husbands, children, those last five pounds and stunningly never got bored—thank God she was too self-involved, self-concerned, to worry about making friends with these women—because there was only one man whose babies she'd ever considered having and even that was a stretch.

And these suburban housewives working for a lark wouldn't have understood or believed her, anyway.

So she kept to herself, which suited her just fine on this not-so-special day.

When lunch came round and she shoved her protesting feet back into her gorgeous, gorgeous shoes, she readily acknowledged she'd been shoved screaming and kicking into a rut.

The funny thing about ruts is you don't know how to get out of them.

And what was the point? Another job, just like this one. She stood, locking her computer, shrugging into her mid-thigh-length black and white coat and picked up her bag, leaving the office without saying a word. She hardly ever did.

She didn't notice them caring, either.

She stepped into the brisk wind, wisps of her dark, dark hair curling out of her mature chignon and whipping around her face. She'd fix it when she got back.

Her hair had been dark for a couple years now. The blonde had started as a dare and one she'd taken a liking to. She'd no intention to keep it blonde for very long, but he had expressed his like of it, so she'd kept it. Consciously or subconsciously, she didn't know.

A couple of years ago, it had been time for a change. Now hardly anyone remembered her as a blonde. Most of her time had been spent with the Doctor and Jack. Wasn't like she had a tonne of pictures from that period in her life.

Buttoning her coat against the brisk breeze, she headed down the sidewalk toward the café she usually took a salad and tea at during lunch, to get out of the office. She kept her head down, as much out of protection from the cold as protection from meeting anyone's gaze.

Her arms and elbows were bumped and she was jostled as she made her way through the crowd.

One man bumped into her particularly hard. He hurried past her and she had an impression of…darkness. That was it, darkness. He was a blur of dark clothing and features and a strange accent as he said "sorry" and shoved past her.

Six years ago, she'd've stopped stock still and yelled at the perpetrator. Today she just checked to make sure her bag was still zipped and intact before heading into the café.

She ordered herself the same chicken Caesar salad and cup of Lady Grey that she ordered every afternoon, five days a week. Usually, the cashier was ringing her order up before she'd opened her mouth. She took the little tray that was pushed across the counter at her and carried it to a table by the window.

Lame compared to exploring the universe, but at this point she would take what she could get. It was a good spot, in Piccadilly Circus, and seeing all the different people calmed her when she got particularly antsy. She enjoyed seeing the tourists, the kids, even the regular middle-aged shoppers on their regular, everyday shopping trips.

She added milk to her tea, gave it a quick stir and sipped it, peering out the window.

Today they just bored her.

So she concentrated on her lunch and the impending return to the office in—she glanced at her watch—20 minutes. Not for the first time, she entertained the idea of going back to school…maybe _something_ would lead to a better job, a better life than she had now.

Is this what he would call a fantastic life?

Sometimes she hated him.

She speared a piece of chicken and took a thoughtful bite of it. She'd been single for the better part of two years. Mickey'd tried to pick up where they'd left off, but her grief had been too real, too raw. She'd only wanted one person. One being, she corrected herself. Even now, when she was fine and finally over him, she didn't think she could be with Mickey.

They were different people now. So, he was happy with Trisha. Her mum was happy with her boyfriend of a year, Mike and Shireen was happy with her sparkling new husband.

Rose Tyler was happy alone.

When she was finished with her lunch, she bought a coffee and sipped it as she left the café and headed back to the office. It took the chill out of the wind and she had a special fondness for peppermint and enjoyed the winter months when she could have peppermint mocha.

She rounded the corner and her office building loomed in her very near future. Suddenly, her life once again turned into that surreal, slowed-down, movie quality she'd gotten used to years ago but was disorienting now.

Someone slammed bodily into her, sending her coffee flying in the air. Two hard, strong arms grabbed her and tugged her back, out of the path of the falling, scalding drink. When her breathing began to calm once more, she realized her tiny hand was fisted in the lapel of a dark jacket.

Her lucidity began to return and she unclenched her fingers, smoothing out the wrinkles she couldn't see but knew she'd caused.

"You all right?" The voice was near her ear, a couple inches up and she was pretty sure it belonged to the arms around her. She stepped back a bit and looked up.

She wondered if the shock was evident on her features.

"Hey…you okay?" The man's voice, his features softened, but all Rose could do was stare. His pale eyes searched hers, her face before a look crossed his face. Just a flicker, a split-second thought.

He laughed, sounding half-strangled. "You almost look like a friend of mine. Someone I used to know a long time ago. But you—"

"I—"

That was all it took. His eyes narrowed, his large hands gripped her upper arms.

"Rose?"

* * *

Please R/R. Next chapter will be up ASAP. Thanks for reading!


	2. Searching

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing. I have to confess, though, I do have CE locked up in my closet until he promises to take me 'round the universe but so far all I can get out of him is "daft nutter." But it's okay, I can be patient. He can only be naked for so long, don't you think?

**A/N:** Thanks to my sorta-beta, pnthersheart6972. And thanks for all your lovely reviews; you guys are seriously awesome. I'd still write for no reviews, but knowing what I write is appreciated and touches people makes it that much more enjoyable.

That said, you guys are going to kill me.

But I PROMISE, Chapter 3 will be up by the end of tomorrow night at the latest, if not tonight.

* * *

He was at turns the most hate-filled man she'd ever known, or the most compassionate. What he was, what he had been, she could see now, was desperate. There'd been a passion, a fire inside him, but it was the kind that burned far too quickly—and consumed everything in it's path. No one could survive being burned that way.

She and the Doctor and Jack had all been affected by that knife's edge, the one that was a cross between safety and insanity and always, always sharpened by the need, the _greed, _to see, feel, touch more.

Sometimes she still had dreams, terrible running dreams that she could never escape from. Nothing chased her, no one pursued her and still, she was lost. If she'd asked someone, they would've told her she was searching for someone, or something.

But she didn't want to hear that—even if she knew it was true.

She'd learned to be happy in her not-so-special flat, her not-so-special job, in her not-to-special life. She wasn't as close as she used to be with her friends; her swanning off with the Doctor had had a lot to do with that.

And some of it had been her own fault, not being able to reconcile the fantastic, _fantastic _things she'd seen, things she couldn't tell anyone and couldn't describe to those she could tell.

If not happy, then content at least, in her not-so-special life.

And, after what she'd been through, wasn't contentment the most she could ask for?

Where she used to love change, she now abhorred it. Anything that threatened the status quo was a threat to herself, to her _life_ and she'd stopped talking to people who had caused too much change. Too much change made it hurt.

What "it" was, she wasn't quite sure yet.

And now _it_ ached, painful and throbbing, causing chills to cascade up and down her spine.

The perfect little world inside the perfect little bubble of loneliness, one she had spent years nurturing, crafting, honing was threatened.

To say it put her back up would be an understatement.

To say it caused her sorrow would be putting it mildly.

But it did bring the grief to the surface, the hard, hot ball of tears in her chest and coursing up her throat, threatening to eat her alive.

Eat her like some foreign monster only waiting, torturing her and waiting, to sink its teeth into her soft flesh.

* * *

10 years, five months, two weeks, nine days, eight hours, 24 minutes and 37…38…39…seconds…40…

Part of his mind counted down the days as they passed, a constant clock, constantly ticking in his brain, beating against the inside of his skull with the insistence of a morning-after hangover.

He'd been searching for her almost as long as she'd been out of his life, vowing to…well, himself, because who else was there?...that he would find her and bring her home.

Granted, he had no idea where she was and no idea if she would come with him if—_when_, he corrected himself—when he found her.

He stood on a corner of Piccadilly Circus, looking up at the neon and LCD signs that gleamed in the dreary gloom of the autumn day. He buttoned his jacket against the cold breeze and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

He had no where else to look. It'd been more than 10 years for him, more than five for Rose. Any steps, any paths he knew to follow had long been dried and swept from sight.

He'd gone to her council estate, knocked on her door. An elderly black woman had answered and, despite his protestations about a lack of time, dragged him inside for tea and company.

After awhile, he'd given up looking for routes of escape, resigned. Besides, what was another hour after 10 years?

And, he mused, Estelle made excellent chocolate cake.

And he got information from her, which was even better than the cake. Jackie, a sweet woman, but a bit of a talker, according to Estelle, had moved out almost six months earlier. Somewhere west was all Estelle knew and Jackie hadn't left a forwarding address or number.

It hurt more than he had thought, to come so close and still fail. After 10 years, six months was a blink of an eye, or the beat of a heart.

"What about Rose?" He'd asked. "Her daughter."

"Oh, lovely girl." He fought to not roll his eyes. Everyone was lovely to Estelle. "Quiet, though. Night and day, her and Jackie. I've never seen anyone so young so quiet. My experience is that all young girls are—"

"Quiet? Are you sure it was Rose?"

"Well, that's the name she used. Lovely girl, just lovely."

So, after another pot of tea between the two of them and another slice of that sinful cake, he finally managed to escape.

He'd walked past the recreation ground, hunching his shoulders against the cold. At one point, his steps had faltered and he'd felt a hard wrenching deep in his chest. He looked around, but didn't see anything.

He'd walked aimlessly around London for hours and only managed to make himself cold and hungry when he saw her. He took off after her, watching her long, wavy blonde hair bob through the crowd ahead of him.

He took off at a run, skirting around slower moving pedestrians, not allowing himself to take his eyes from her. He was so close, so very close after so, so long.

His shoulder sang as he bumped into one passerby particularly hard, but he didn't do anything but yell a "sorry" over his shoulder.

He got closer and then he could see her, the path clear, right in front of him.

"Rose!" He called. She didn't respond, but then it was noisy, crowded. She couldn't hear him, right? Finally, finally he reached her and grabbed her elbow, spinning her around.

Her features were small, pert. Her lips were a shell pink, her green eyes accented by the bright violet…wait. Green?

He felt his stomach, his _world _sink.

So close and still he lost again.

"Come off it! What's the idea?" The girl yanked her arm from his grasp, taking a step back, even as her boyfriend stepped forward.

He held his hands up, stepped back. "Sorry. Sorry. I thought you were someone I knew." He turned back around, hurrying away from them and the small crowd that had formed.

As soon as he could, he ducked into an alley way and leaned against the brick wall. He leaned his hands on his knees and took deep breaths to clear his dizzy head.

Was it always going to be like this, for the rest of his life? So close, always so close, but so terribly, irrevocably wrong? Would he just grasp at threads and remnants until he was beaten and finally gave up?

Hands and head steadier, he pushed away from the wall and headed back onto the busy street. The crowds were a blur now and he didn't think he could find her if he was in a street full of Roses.

He rounded a blind corner and skirted around a man standing stock still on the sidewalk, talking on his mobile. He glanced back at the man, opening his mouth to say something when he came up short.

He slammed bodily into someone who let out an ear-piecing shriek and stumbled back. He grabbed her, tugged her out of the way as the drink she'd let fly began to tumble back down.

He looked down at her, the glossy, dark chocolate hair, the too-slender body. She was clutching to him, the lapel of his jacket in her death grip as she trembled.

"You all right?"

He gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze and took a step back. Apparently it was his day to assault innocent women.

She took her own step back and looked up at him. The blood drained from her already pale face, her wide mouth opened in a gape. She moved it once or twice, but apparently she couldn't find the volume.

"Hey…you okay?" Maybe he'd scared her. He _had _hit her pretty hard. Knocked the wind from her or something. He studied her face. Her brows were the same colour as her hair, the dark slashes making her paleness more obvious. She had a firm jaw line, sharp cheekbones and her lips were thinned in fear or anger or…something, he didn't know. Still…

He let out a little laugh, lifted a hand to the top of his head. "You almost look like a friend of mine…someone I used to know a long time ago…but you—"

"I—"

And he heard it. Memories came slamming back into him. The lips, the nose, the prominent cheekbones. The ever-present dark roots and brows, ones he'd teased her about a time or two. He couldn't hear his own thoughts over the roar of blood in his ears, felt like if he took too deep a breath he would collapse at her feet. He grabbed her upper arms, met her eyes.

Her eyes. _Her _eyes.

"Rose?"

* * *

R/R, please. Chapter 3 up soon, promise!

And a big, chewy, frosting-covered TARDIS-shaped cookie to all of you who guessed right...you'll see. :)


	3. Compromise, Even If It Hurts

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing. I have to confess, though, I do have CE locked up in my closet until he promises to take me 'round the universe but so far all I can get out of him is "daft nutter." But it's okay, I can be patient. He can only be naked for so long, don't you think?

* * *

"How? How are you here?" Was that her voice? That weak? She felt like she couldn't get the breath to her lungs.

"Oh, Rose. I've been looking for you for so long." He wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her against him, cradling her head in the crook of his shoulder with his hand. She breathed in his scent, the cologne that she'd still caught whiffs of from time to time and that was enough to break the damn.

"Jack. Oh my God, Jack." His soft lips descended on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks and they were both sobbing like fools, in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. "How? How is this possible? You said goodbye, you died."

"I've been looking for you, Rose. 10 years I've been looking for you."

"10…" she pulled back, snuffling, and looked up at him. His pale, greenish-blue eyes were red-rimmed, tear tracts on his tan cheeks.

He even managed to make crying look good. She knew she looked a mess.

"It's only been six years. Six years today."

"For you. You better than anyone should know that time doesn't run in a straight line."

"The Doctor! Is he here, too? Where is he? Didn't he want to say hi?" She looked around for a minute, knowing the Doctor was hiding around the corner, waiting for Jack to surprise her so he could come out and steal the show.

"It would be just like him to show off, to want the spotlight for himself." She looked up at Jack again and he was looking down at her, sorrowfully. "Jack…? The Doctor…?"

"I don't know, Rose. I haven't seen him anymore than you have. When I…came to…on Satellite 5…I was alone. Just stinking bodies and me. I don't know how long I was out."

"And…the Doctor?" Her heart was pounding.

"Wasn't there. Neither were you." She opened her mouth but her throat was in her heart and she couldn't nudge the words past.

"He sent you home, I know," Jack said quietly. He cupped her cheek in his wide-palmed hand. "Oh, God, Rose. I can't believe it's you."

"He…he's dead." She looked away, swallowed hard. She studied the cracked sidewalk before looking back up at him. "He's dead, right?"

"Rose…" He pulled her close again, kissed the top of her head. "I don't know. I just don't know. I haven't seen him in 10 years."

And then the dam, the concrete wall she had spent so long and so much concentration on building and securing lost its support and crumbled down. So much work, over so many years, destroyed in seconds.

She was sobbing in his arms and not caring who saw her. All the grief, all the pain that she had locked away to build her perfect world came bubbling up and pouring out of her, threatening to consume her with its power.

All the whispers, the hesitancy, the furtive glances when they thought she didn't see had only helped her to build her resolve, helped her lock away feelings she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.

And this man, this one who was left behind, just like she was, collapsed it all with a word.

"It's okay, Rose. I'm here now. You can come, stay with me."

The words echoed in her head. Stay with him. Him. Jack. She couldn't believe it, closing her eyes as her fingers flexed their grip in his shirt.

Jack.

He wasn't the Doctor. But he was her best friend, her older brother and she'd loved him madly. But it wasn't right.

Seeing him in front of her now, feeling him, holding him, smelling the familiar tang of his cologne felt…_wrong. _

It hurt as much as saying goodbye had.

She stepped back and dug through her bag for a travel pack of tissue. Pulling several out of the little plastic package, she stuffed it in her coat pocket before blowing her nose noisily. She felt his eyes on her the whole time, but couldn't meet his gaze.

"Rose? What is it?"

"I need to get back to work, I'm late." She sneaked a glance at his face and then wished she hadn't. The incredulous look he was struggling to maintain slipped and she saw the underlying emotion—hurt.

"Rose…work? Screw your job, you can get out of here, come live with me. In my time. My place. You don't fit in here, remember?"

"But I do," she said quietly. "The Doctor told me to have a fantastic life, a good life. He said if I wanted to remember him to have a fan—" she cut off, unable to keep her voice from breaking and resolutely swallowed the tears.

When she spoke again, she was calm.

"I've spent years trying to keep that. Trying to have a good life. He _died _for us—"

"We don't know that," Jack interjected. She closed her eyes, let out a deep breath, opened them again.

"He died for us, Jack," she said quietly. "I've…for the most part, I've accepted it. He told me himself—well, Emergency Programme One told me—that if he had locked me in and was sending me back, it was because we wouldn't survive. He sacrificed himself to—"

"I was there, Rose. After he sent you back," Jack sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "I was so…angry. When I first found out. He wasn't going to tell me, but I tried to talk to you and he had to tell me you weren't there. And then I realized how hopeless it was. He wouldn't have sent you back if he thought we had any chance of surviving."

"You survived," she whispered. Did she hate him for it? She wasn't sure.

"I still don't know how. And I looked for him, I swear to you, I did. I turned over every body trying to find his. Either he was disintegrated or taken or he got away. But he wasn't on that satellite."

* * *

Suddenly, the vastness of 6 years seemed unfathomable.

This was _not _the same Rose he'd kissed goodbye. She was broken, beaten.

She'd become exactly what he'd always heard her mother wanted her to be. She was weak.

"What happened to working for what you want?"

"That's what I'm _doing, _Jack. I want this life. I've built my life up, I've got a good job, my own flat…"

"This isn't who you're supposed to be."

"It is. It is! This is what he wanted!"

"What about what _you_ want?" She visibly deflated and Jack cursed himself.

"It's what I want, Jack. I just…I want to put it all behind me, yeah? I want to forget about that part of my life."

"Forget? Forget about _him_? How can you? He was such a huge part of _my _life and you were closer to him than I ever was—"

"Will you stop yelling at me?" She hissed. "People are staring."

"I don't care! I don't, Rose. This isn't you!" He gripped her arms, gave her a shake. "This isn't you!"

"I'm not doing this right now." She wrenched herself from his grasp, took a couple steps back. "I have spent six years...six _years _of my life trying to recover, trying to not think of him or you or that part of my life and here you come, like nothing's changed and that's just it, Jack, everything has! Everything's changed! I'm not the same person I was then and as much as you'd like to believe differently, you're not the same either! How can we just go back to how it was? How can we go back without insulting what we had?"

He stared at her, thinking. This Rose was different, that was sure. His Rose…_their_ Rose, because he fully believed the Doctor was still alive, it was just a matter of finding him… would have jumped at the chance to live in the 51st century.

An idea occurred to him and he was positive she'd hate it. That made it seem all the more reason.

"I won't push, Rose. If you want to stay here…"

"I do." But she didn't seem quite so sure now. She seemed wary, not sure of where he was going with it.

"Then I won't push. But do you think I could stay with you until I get out of here? I don't carry a lot of 21st century British money on me." He threw on his disarming grin, one he knew used to melt her defenses. A small smile flitted across her face.

"Let me call my boss, yeah? I'll come up with something…then I'll show you where my flat is and you can get settled."

He slung an arm across her shoulders, pulled her in for a tight, one-armed squeeze.

If anything was obvious to him, there was nothing more obvious than this:

He had to fix Rose.

He had to find the Doctor.

And fast.

* * *

All of you who guessed properly the occupant of the dark jacket gets TARDIS cookies. Everyone else...Slitheen cookies! Nah...TARDIS COOKIES FOR EVERYONE!


	4. A Strange Arrangement Part One

**A/N: **I'm going to apologize right now. This is a very, very short chapter. Let me explain. The past few weeks have been _uber_hectic. I work about 50 hours a week and I've had to take care of some other things, too. I've tried to write when I could, and this is the result of that. I intended this chapter to be at _least_ double this length, if not longer, but that didn't happen. On Tuesday, I found out that a loved one has lung cancer, so I've been running around trying to take care of things on that spectrum, too.

So, I decided to post what I have so far, to feed you guys and then write the second part of this chapter as soon as possible. I know it's been a few weeks and I'm lame for not updating and I can only apologize profusely about my lack of updates so many times, so I hope you all aren't too upset with me and I hope this helps stem a little of the hunger. I will post the next part as soon as it's written and beta'd!

Enjoy.

* * *

The one constant in life is that nothing in life is constant.

Jack Harkness, as a rule, reveled in changed. Most people, especially those who claimed to change, profoundly, in actuality rarely, _barely_, changed at all.

Jack Harkness was a conman, through and through. He understood and appreciated the fine art of lying to someone, to make them believe you were something you weren't. Or weren't something you were.

He knew that people often told others they'd changed, acted like they'd changed, to make them feel better about themselves more than tricking others into believing it.

Mind over matter, he mused.

If you keep telling someone you're patient, eventually you will be, just to prove you're not a liar.

Even though you are.

All these thoughts, and more besides, ran through his head as he watched Rose Tyler bustle about her kitchen.

He never thought he'd use "bustle" and "Rose" in the same sentence, but she was doing it and he was one to call it as he saw it.

He wasn't half-stunned that he'd found her. Even now, even less than ten feet away, even when he was close enough to smell her perfume, she looked like an apparition to him.

Not as tan as he remembered, certainly, but then from the sheer amount of _stuff_ in her flat, he'd assumed she didn't…get out much.

What was a night club when you'd been to the end of the world, after all?

He couldn't help but be disappointed. It was wrong of him, he supposed. But there it was.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, though. He had spent more than 10 years looking for her and the Doctor. Mostly her. He knew, though, if the Doctor was alive and _wanted _to be found, Jack would've found him. The fact that he hadn't only made him wonder why the Doctor was hiding.

He didn't like to think of the reasons.

Rose Tyler was a different story altogether. She had simply gone on her way like the Doctor had told her.

Of all the times to actually listen, Jack thought.

Over his 10 years, five months, two weeks, ten days, four hours, 4 minutes and odd number of seconds of searching, he felt now, he'd built a huge pedestal for the 21—27, he corrected himself—year old and shoved her on top of it. He'd painted this ideal of her—as he'd known her—in his mind.

What a _crushing_ disappointment it was to see her now.

The bravery, the sarcasm, the biting wit—where had all that gone?

This "fantastic" life the Doctor had doomed her to had destroyed her.

Selfish asshole.

There was selfishness on Rose's part, too. A willingness to give up because life hurt.

Even in his time, Jack's time,it did. It was part of the human condition.

She set a plate with an oozing egg sandwich in front of him before plonking down a steaming cup of tea. She put her own…meal…across the table and settled down.

"Rose," he said quietly, almost a whisper. He was amazed when she gave a full-body flinch at the sound of his voice.

Who _was _this girl?

He watched as she paused for a moment, gathering her wits. She took a sip of her tea, winced a bit and then looked up at him.

"Yes, Jack?"

"You shouldn't be here." Damn it. That wasn't what he wanted to say.

"If you're going to spend your time here complaining about how I should be leaving with you, you can go now." He blinked. She didn't look at him as she said it, but her voice was firmer than it had been a moment earlier. He frowned.

"I didn't mean to say that. You're just…different," he finished lamely. To shut himself up, he took a huge bite of the oozing…he made a face around the sandwich as he chewed, grateful Rose was looking down at the table. What the _hell_ was he eating?

Okay, she couldn't cook any better than she had been able to before. That was reassuring, right?

Some things never change, all that.

It was foolish to hope that Rose Tyler was still _Rose Tyler_.

It was only painfully obvious that she hadn't been herself for several years. Jack thanked whatever higher power there was that he'd never fallen in love with anyone, not if this was what it did to you.

"So," Rose asked, changing the subject. "What exactly do you plan on doing while you're here?"

"I won't be here long," he muttered. His stomach growled, so he took another bite of the sandwich, holding his breath while chewing.

"What do you do on the weekends?" He asked, more to break the awkward silence than out of any real curiosity. It was probably assholish of him, but he wasn't sure if he liked this Rose, to be quite honest.

She shrugged her thin shoulders, tucked a loose strand of ebony hair behind her ear.

"Read. Watch telly. Things like that."

"How thrilling." Her cup clattered down on the table and he shot his gaze up at her, nearly flinching at the look on her face.

"Don't you dare, Jack Harkness, don't you _dare_. You left me, sent me home on my own. I've spent six years wondering what the hell's happened to either of you…for _six years_. People _change_, Jack. I've changed. I've had to, I've had to adapt. Do you think any of this was easy after everything I did and saw? After…after him? After him and you? No. No, it's _not_ easy. Every day is fucking _hell_ to get through but I do it. I do it because it's all I _can_ do. The TARDIS wouldn't take me anywhere. I tried to get back to him, Jack, I did," she was openly crying now, "back to him and to you. But the ship wouldn't take me. Now I can't even get into the ship, or I couldn't the last time I tried and why do I want to keep hurting myself like that?"

I just…I _can't_, Jack. I can't. I have to move on. I have to keep going or I can't function." She took a deep breath, about to admit to him what she'd never admitted to anyone. "For days after I was sent back here, after I tried to get back and couldn't, I—I stayed in the TARDIS. I went through his papers, which didn't help because it was all in Gallifreyan. I went through his wardrobe, his drawers, everything. Searching for anything."

And d'you know what I found? Nothing. _Nothing_. It was planned, Jack. He'd planned all along to send me back if something happened. He didn't even trust me enough to—"

"That's not it at all, Rose," Jack broke in quietly. She broke off, her breathing ragged in the quiet kitchen. "He sent you back to keep you safe. Because he loved you."

"Jack—"

"I was there, Rose. I told you that. I tried to get in touch with you after I left you and him and he told me you were gone. I got a little pissed off but then I realized he'd sent you home. And he _wouldn't_ talk about it. But the look on his face---I can't even describe it. He hated having to do it, but your life was worth so much more to him than anything else. The fact that you're alive, that you're living is proof."

"What sorta life is this, Jack?"

"Not much of one, I'll admit. But you're _alive_. You have the chance, the choice. And that's what he wanted for you. His wants or feelings didn't matter, not when it came down to keeping you safe. Because it was always you or the universe and for him it was never really a choice."

* * *

R&R please. Again, next chapter up ASAP, hopefully within the week.


	5. A Strange Arrangement Part Two

Many of you know the reasons behind my absence. Suffice it to say that while I haven't been posting like I should have been, I have thought about you all and all I can do is promise to try my hardest to finish this story in the upcoming weeks.

Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing, yada yada, including CE. Him, I'm just borrowing without permission. But he doesn't mind...

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Jack wasn't half-amazed at the lack of Christmas spirit this still-new-to-him-Rose seemed to have. He remembered, fondly (though at the time he'd typically been annoyed), how she'd bounced and caroled with glee, driving everyone within a 20 foot radius out of their wits.

But this one… in fact, he'd teased her for being slow on the shopping uptake and she'd replied with "oh…is it Christmas?" He'd been so shocked he'd been speechless and he certainly couldn't recall the last time_ that_ had happened.

Really, it was a bit of a strange arrangement between them. He still, even after nearly two weeks, couldn't be sure if it was a good thing or bad thing that he had found her.

And didn't that make him an asshole.

As much as he loved Rose, not just the idea of Rose, but Rose herself, he couldn't help but dislike whoever_ this_ woman was. It was like she'd been to a planet of doppelgangers with the Doctor and he'd brought the wrong one home.

Ahh, the Doctor.

Therein lies the crux of the whole problem, he thought, and not for the first time. The Doctor managed to make a bloody mess of things even when he didn't exist.

Oh, not that he was dead. Jack believed that as much as he believed…well, that his own hair was green, or something equally stupid. He felt that the Doctor was very much alive, it was only a matter of finding him.

"Only" a matter, Jack snorted to himself. As if it were so trivial. Rose's very life depended on finding the rude, temperamental, insolent alien and as much as they didn't get along, Jack still felt the oh-so-familiar urge to indulge Rose with her heart's desire.

Currently, her heart's desire was knitting.

Knitting.

_Knitting._

"Why are you_ doing_ that?"

"It relaxes me," came the canned, half-hearted reply. "Besides," she went on, "Mum needs some booties for little Graham or Lisa."

"Booties. Don't you have stores in this century?" It took all the personal resolve and will he had to not flinch at the scathing look she shot at him.

"I _like _doing this, Jack. I'm sorry that I'm not exciting or thrilling enough for you. If you dislike it here so much, just go home."

For the second time that week, he was speechless. A new record.

"I never asked you to stay, you know. You took it upon yourself."

Had he? Pity that.

"But you don't have to be a git, you don't have to give those long-suffering sighs every five minutes, just _leave_." She spoke her monologue over the rhythmic clacking of her knitting needles.

"Rose—"

"Don't be patronizing." He looked up and studied her, really studied her. She sat in corner, her tiny body curled into the overstuffed chair she kept there. Her glossy, dark chocolate hair was pulled up into a messy topknot, a festive red sweater was tucked around her, the sleeves pushed up, just a bit. When he looked at her, when he saw how absolutely vulnerable she really was, he saw his Rose again.

"I'm sorry, it's just…you've changed, you know."

"I know. I had to. I like who I am, Jack."

"Do you? I wonder."

"It isn't _for _you to wonder, you know. As long as I like who I am, it's all that matters, sod you." He was shocked when she threw her precious knitting down on the coffee table, but not shocked that she refused to meet his eye. She crossed her arms and tucked her legs more firmly underneath her.

Jack sighed. However he managed to keep screwing things up, he wasn't sure, but he was doing a _very _good job at it.

"The Rose I met during the London Blitz was a completely different person," he started.

"I _know _that, I already to—"

"Shut up, Rose." Her jaw went slack, one raven brow winged up. "You were fiery, you were full of questions and full of even more answers. You had…life, you had…I dunno," he muttered, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Zest," he decided. "You had zest."

"If you call me bubbly—"

"I won't. But you were. Maybe it's because you were with the Doctor"—he missed the flinch she gave, since his eyes were solidly connected with his boots—"and you could bounce your personality and maybe it's not. But whatever it is, whatever made you my friend, the person you were then, is gone. Not changed, not different. Not adapted. Gone."

"Jack—" Rose sighed, rubbed a hand over her brow. "Maybe I've not been fair. No, I know I haven't."

"Tell me something," she said quietly, after a pause. "How old are you?"

"Chronologically? 48 Earth years. 42 Earth years, in your time frame."

"Right. Well, whatever. Ask a stupid question." She shook her head. "In your 48…or 42…years, have you ever loved someone so much, so inescapably, that when you lost them—not grew apart, or separated, or fought—but actually lost them, right when you began to realize how absolutely much you loved them, without a choice—a decision he _made_ for me, without respecting me enough for my input—"

"He was trying to—"

"Shut up." He raised his eyebrows.

"Fair enough."

"He didn't respect me enough. He should have known that I would rather have died there fighting with him than be sent back. He knew how much I hated my life, how much I—" She shook her head. "That's not the point. The point is that he was _part _of me. When he did that, when I realized I had no way, literally no way to not only ever see him again, but to even know he was all right—I was destroyed, Jack. It _shattered_ me. D'you understand? I had to rebuild myself from that and it's taken years."

"Maybe I didn't do it right. Maybe I got the pattern a bit cocked-up. But I did it is what matters. D'you know something, Jack? The day I met you again was the first day in six _years _I woke up and my first thought wasn't him. Wasn't where he was, what he'd done. You brought it all back. You brought back memories and feelings that I've tamped down over the last six years. So I'm struggling with that, too."

"Rose, I'm so sorry," he whispered. He couldn't speak any louder past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry I've been horrible to you."

"You've not been," she countered, picking up her knitting again. She paused as the clacking started up again. "You just haven't bothered to understand."

"It's not that I don't still love him, Jack, I do. It's not that I don't think of him, constantly. It's just that I can't be put through that wringer again. And you know as well as I that if the situation fell the same way it did before, he'd do it all over again. And I just can't do that."

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Jack shut the door behind him quietly and buttoned up his jacket as he headed down the stairwell. When he reached the ground floor, he pushed through the rusted door with a creak. The cold air hit with a shock and he gulped hard to get his breath back.

Rose was attempting to make supper again. He glanced over his shoulder at what he knew was her kitchen window, even though the curtains were drawn. He was thankful for her effort, but his stomach tended to disagree rather loudly.

He flipped up the collar of his jacket to protect his ears from the wind and headed down the sidewalk. He didn't have a particular destination; he'd just needed to escape the awkwardness after completely dismantling Rose's pride for her.

"Shit, what an asshole," he muttered to himself. "No wonder she doesn't talk to you anymore."

He wasn't sure what to make of what had become the emotional mess that was his life.

He couldn't say it was entirely bad. He got to see, spend time with, _experience _Rose and that was worth a million lifetimes, in his book.

And he'd already gone on, for days and days in his own head, how different she was.

Now he had to stop complaining and actually do something. 10 years earlier…or three thousand in the future, however you looked at it, he was a man of action. If you'd told him before that he'd spend two months moping over something he couldn't control, he would've laughed and rather heartily. Then he would've found the solution and done something about it.

_So_, he said to himself, because who else was there, shoring up his resolve, _that's what I'll do._

_Tell her_.

The nagging voice in his head made the back of his neck itch but he ignored it. He owed it to Rose to clue her in, especially after what the Doctor had done.

His eyebrows narrowed. Boy, was the Doctor going to be sorry when Jack found him.

Starting to shiver, he spun on his heel and headed back toward Rose's flat. A few flakes were beginning to drift to the ground, covering the dirty snow with fresh white powder.

He headed up to the fifth floor and let himself in with the key Rose had given him. He wasn't sure if she'd done it while consciously thinking of what it implied, but he wasn't going to bring it up.

Just in case she took it back.

The scents that assaulted him as he hung up his jacket on the hook by the door and headed back toward the kitchen amazed him. For once the flat didn't have the acrid smell of burnt food or the overheated smell of food rapidly cooked in the atomic oven.

It was spicy and tangy and made his far-too-empty stomach growl and churn in pleasure. Rose was just setting plates out on the table and looked up and smiled at him.

Not for the first time, his heart jerked in his chest. She looked so very much like the old Rose, the…previous Rose when she smiled.

He tore his gaze from her melted chocolate one and studied the heaping, steaming bowls on the table.

His stomach churned, but this time not so pleasantly.

Should he risk curry that Rose made?

After a minute, Rose rolled her eyes.

"I didn't cook it, you git. I started, but the mix just looked nasty, so I called in curry."

The relief on his face must have been obvious because she gave a short laugh as she sat at the table.

"I should be insulted, if I didn't know I was such a bad cook."

"It's not that you're a bad cook," he started, sitting across from her. She rolled her eyes and tucked her napkin into her lap.

"Yes, I am. Who are you kidding?" She picked up a bowl of rice and started dishing it onto her plate and he followed suit.

"Okay, fine. I didn't want to upset you."

"Can't get upset at the truth," she commented. He nodded as he shoved in a mouthful of curry.

And wasn't that prophetic?

Truth was, he'd loved her since day one.

No, scratch that. He was going to ignore that.

Truth was, the Doctor was missing and he—he was pretty sure—knew how to find him.

Truth was, he couldn't tell Rose what he was planning.

Truth was, he was going to break her heart.

Again.


	6. Tonight I Wanna Cry

**Mum is well and healthy and returned home from hospital Monday. Here's what I've had a chance to write recently. As I am both working full-time and attending graduate school full-time, I can't write or post as often as I'd like, but trust me when I say I want to and I will do my best. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, CE is handcuffed to my bed, etc etc.**

Now it was Rose Tyler's turn to break his heart. He'd been working up to it for days, returning to his ship while she was at work, always, always home before she got home from work.

He spent his days running his calculations, figuring out not only the best path of action, but that tickling voice in the back of his head kept telling him to _tell her_…but he never could.

One day he'd spent nearly all of his time in his ship working up ways to tell her, envisioning the hurt and betrayal in her expressive molten eyes.

Of course, he'd chickened out. He always chickened out.

Tough Jack Harkness, former Time Agent and conman-turned-good guy. He'd been through the final battle of the Time War and apparently lived to tell about it.

And he couldn't even be honest with one small girl.

Until, one not so special day, he was out of time. There was nothing else he could do. Any calculations, any numbers he ran, any maps he read now only served as a means of procrastination.

Christmas was three days away. Part of him, the majority of him, wanted to stay with her and her family through the holiday. Her mother had invited him, albeit warily, as if he was going to scoop her off and take her planet-skipping again.

When he'd gotten home that night, and shrugged out of his denim jacket, hanging it over the rack by the door, a strange sound greeted him. A weird thump twinged his heart and he walked hurriedly into the kitchen.

The sight that greeted him surprised him, because the strange smells that usually wafted out of her kitchen didn't accompany the sight. When she turned, spun on her heel, he literally felt his heart stop.

A huge grin crossed her thin face as she greeted him hello.

_Oh no, _Jack thought. _Oh no…_

Why now?

Why had Rose, _his _Rose, decided to come back?

Captain Jack Harkness contemplated many things after his escape from Rose's flat. He walked around the city, aimlessly, thoughts bouncing against the inside of his brain in their reckless attempts to get out and _breathe_.

Why had she returned on the day he'd finally gathered the courage to tell her he was leaving? One of those wide-lipped smiles of hers, ones he hadn't even realized he'd missed until he saw it, one of those that lit up her entire face had broken his resolve and he was once again a messy puddle of uncertain goo.

But, he thought, it wasn't to say she hadn't been there the entire time he had—he just hadn't liked that one very much.

It never occurred to him he was being selfish.

He trudged up the stairs to her flat, frowning as he stopped outside the wooden door, hand on the knob.

Rose Tyler, Version 1.0, was back and in fullforce, if he could tell anything from the off-key, ear-splitting racket leaking through the door.

He dug his key from the pocket of his denim jacket and opened the door. It looked like a Christmas elf had puked.

Decorations hung everywhere: paper snowflakes, tinsel, garland, Christmas lights—everywhere. It hurt his eyes.

Rose was dancing through the room, singing along with Burl Ives about having a holly, jolly Christmas, fighting gravity to tack up a shimmering strand of purple garland.

Her chocolate-colored hair shined in the twinkling lights, bouncing around the shoulders of her bright red hoodie.

Thankfully, when she turned and screamed upon catching sight of him quietly watching her, Mr. Ives was able to drown her out, preventing any of her neighbors from running to her rescue.

Not that they would have anyway.

He listened calmly as she worked her way through a tirade before he spoke up.

The ache in his chest spread as she chattered on, heading into the kitchen to fix him a cup of tea. As much as he loved to see her so happy, it made his heart ache to know what his leaving might do to her.

Oh, he wouldn't fool himself that losing him would cause her to fall so far as the Doctor had, but he knew on the precarious ledge of happiness she now walked upon, the slightest push would send her tumbling back into a deep pit of despair.

After she handed him the steaming mug of tea, he retreated quietly to his room.

He felt every year of his age at this moment, weighing him down with every step. Cracking the door, he left the light off and he sat on the edge of the bed, listening to her cheerful voice.

He would have to approach it carefully, he knew. He set his mug on the night table and untied his boots, toeing them off and kicking them toward the corner. Shutting his bedroom door quietly and stripping off the rest of his clothes, making his way toward his bathroom. Turning on the water as hot as he could stand it, he stepped under the spray.

There was no way he could be cocky about it, not if he hoped to maintain some sort of relationship with her in the future.

If there _was _a future, he amended.

He could royally fuck up Earth's plans of continued existence if he didn't pay attention.

Stepping out of the shower and toweling off, he listened with half an ear as she bounced around the flat, mentally building his plans for his departure.

In all likelihood, he'd stay until the day after Christmas…just in case.

The idea was sketchy at best. Part Two, Operation: Find the Doctor hinged entirely on Part One, Operation: Find the TARDIS.

The few details he'd managed to scrape from Rose's raw, bleeding soul were 1) the TARDIS had left London and 2) She hadn't faded mechanically; as Rose put it, the TARDIS had been forgotten—or unnoticed, as who would forget the TARDIS once you'd seen inside?—and ceased to exist, as the Doctor had predicted.

But there had to be somewhere she still existed. _Somewhere_. It hadn't been long enough for something so heavily material to disintegrate. So she was in the ether, and Jack was pretty sure he'd figured out a way to find her. He frowned.

Or destroy her.

Or his ship.

And him, too, as he thought of it. He put his head in his hands, the biggest decision in his life was looming before him.

Fuck.

This was how Rose found him.

His black hair was glistening in the dim light, drops of water still beaded on his wide shoulders, the weight of the world—several worlds, she amended—causing those gorgeous shoulders to droop.

"What is it?"

His head shot up. The look in his eyes was so intense she swore she could feel her skin melt. He blinked and the heat was replaced with sorrow. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed next to him and remained silent.

A moment later, his chest heaved with a huge sigh and he straightened, reaching over to take her hand.

"What is it, Jack?" She bit her lip. "You can tell me."

"Nothing, I—" he paused, looking away and she frowned. "Was just thinking about our last Christmas together." Rose felt the wave of sadness crash over him and swamp her. Taking a deep breath, she replied,

"That was the last time I decorated. Or even thought of it."

"You've been so sad, haven't you?" Jack murmured. He looked down at her hand, tracing his fingers over hers.

"Empty, more like. You ever hear that phrase, 'you don't realize what you got 'til it's gone'?"

"Corny, but true?"

"I didn't realize I loved him until he took that choice away from me. Maybe that makes me stupid—"

"It doesn't. I could tell he loved you the first moment I saw him with you." She nudged his shoulder with hers.

"Coulda told me," she said softly.

"I loved you, too." Rose's heart broke a little more. "I still love you."

"I still love you, too, Jack." He let go of her hand and his hand slid around her waist and across her back to land on the bed behind her, palm down. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

"But you don't love me the way you love him," Jack prompted.

"No. I'm sorry. No."

"Honestly, didn't expect different." She still detected a sour note in his deep voice. He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"Jack?" She asked, unable to keep the hesitant note from creeping into her voice. He was silent for a moment before he answered.

"Yeah, Rose?"

"How did you survive? Did you get away?"

"The last thing I remember," he started slowly, "is hearing a Dalek say 'exterminate'—I felt this…this…ripping feeling. Like someone had reached inside, grabbed my guts and yanked them out. Then I remember waking up…you know how you feel when you have a chest cold? That sharp, relentless pressure?" She nodded mutely, keeping her eyes on his face, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "That's how my chest felt I'll never forget it."

_What about the Doctor,_ her mind screamed, tears clawing their way out.

"I got up—there were no Daleks, no people. You and the TARDIS were gone. And so was the Doctor."

His cheek rested against the top of her head. He didn't mentioned, didn't want to mention that he'd spent nearly two days sifting through dust, bodies and debris looking for the two of them, for shards of wood and mechanical bits, looking for the TARDIS—

"How did you get off?" He cleaned his throat and straightened a little, but she leaned closer, unconsciously seeking warmth.

"It was just a matter of setting off an emergency beacon and waiting for a ship to come out to inspect. Hitched a ride back to Earth, procured a ship and went home."

"Home?"

"My home. My flat. First time back in nearly a year. Then I started working on finding both of you."

"You found me," Rose said, a small smile on her face.

"I did. I'm glad." He kissed her cheek lightly and she leaned into it a little. She turned her head and his lips came down gently on hers. She broke away, looking up at him.

"Jack…" His hand came up to cup her cheek.

"Shh…" And he kissed her again.


	7. A Better Future

**Disclaimer:** Again, I don't own anything. Why would anyone think I own DW? And really, if I _owned_ _Doctor Who_, would I be writing fan fic? Wouldn't I be writing shippy episodes where the Doctor and Rose are together and in love for-ev-ar?

**A/N:** Um. No, not really. Last one before the end, folks.

* * *

When Rose Tyler woke up the next morning, she could feel the heaviness of Jack's arm across her belly, could feel the flutter of his breath on her cheek. Turning her head, she studied his face while he slept, the sweep of long, dark lashes across his high cheekbones, the shadow of stubble across his jaw. She sighed and climbed from the bed.

Probably hadn't been the smartest thing she'd ever done, but there it was. She picked up Jack's tee from where it was lying on the floor and shrugged into it before padding into the kitchen to make tea.

As she flicked the kettle on, she thought back to the night before. She knew that she would've lived if it had never happened, but did she regret it?

_It didn't mean anything_, she told herself, assured herself. Just two friends finding comfort, that's all it was.

If she kept telling herself that, it was true, right?

She was staring out the window, a steaming mug of tea cupped in her hands, warming her cheeks as she watched the occasional passer-by, the occasional leaf or snowflake flutter by.

She couldn't help but feel like she'd cheated on the Doctor.

Which was ridiculous, because they'd never so much as kissed, let alone shared any moments of undying love or commitment. She loved him, with all her heart, and had done since the first time he'd looked at her with _that_ look in his eyes.

That sharp, haunted look that said _maybe I can't save you, but I'm so glad you're with me when we die._ She couldn't even count the number of times they'd shared it.

She heard a shuffling behind her and turned to see Jack coming to a rest in the door. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, watching her. She cleared her throat and gestured to her mug.

"Cup of tea?"

"It wasn't a mistake, Rose." She blushed, averting her gaze.

"I know, Jack." She moved past him into the kitchen and set about making up a cup of tea for him. "I know that."

"I won't apologize."

"I don't want you to. What's with you this morning, anyway?" She asked with false cheerfulness. "Am I that bad?"

"You? No, you're wonderful." He snagged an apple out of the bowl on the counter and rinsed it off before taking a healthy bite. "Were you ever intimate with the Doctor?"

"Jack!" She let out a forced laugh and shoved his cup at him, not meeting his gaze.

"I'm just curious. Besides, at this point, I sort of have a right to know." Rose was silent for a moment as she scrubbed at a non-existent spot on the counter. He put his mug down and, holding the apple in his teeth, took the dishcloth from her and set it in the sink. Grabbing onto the apple again, he took another bite before speaking around it. "I don't mean to be rude, I really don't."

"I know you don't. No, we weren't. I don't even think he ever thought of me that way—"

"Oh, he did." Rose rolled her eyes.

"What, you two share secrets as you painted your nails?"

"No, he likes his nails bare…boring, if you ask me. I'm serious, Rose, he did. I just think he didn't know how to say it."

"And how d'you know that?"

"The way he acted. Even after he got used to me being around, if I was too close to you or we laughed too much without including him in on the joke, he got testy."

"Testy. He's always testy." It was Jack's turn to roll his eyes.

"You just were seeing it from too close. I got to see the bigger picture. Both of you are stupid, should've acted on it." Rose shoved at his shoulder and refilled her mug before heading back into the other room to sit on the couch.

"It was different with us. We—"

"Had a great relationship, if you ask me. I'm jealous of it."

"No reason to be jealous now." She set her mug down on the coffee table and played with the hem of the tee where it fell across her thigh.

"Every reason to be jealous, Rose." She looked up at met his gaze. "Every reason."

_Tell her_, his mind screamed.

But he wouldn't. Instead, he turned the conversation to the left.

"So, are we still on for your mom's tomorrow?" Her face brightened a little and Jack felt himself relax, just the slightest.

"Really, d'you mean it? You want to come?"

"Of course I want to come. After all I've heard about Jackie Tyler?" Rose frowned and he quickly thought over what he'd said. _What did I do wrong?_ But then it cleared, albeit her cheerfulness was a bit more forced than he'd like.

"You shouldn't believe everything he told you. She's not as bad as all that. He just didn't—"

"Do domestic." He finished for her. "Right, I remember."

* * *

"I would like to know, mister, what your intentions are with my daughter." Jackie aimed for his chest, he was sure, but ended up poking somewhere near his throat. He swallowed painfully and raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Don't get all hoity-uppity with me. Just like that damn Doctor." Rose appeared beside them and she gave Jack a strained smile as she hooked her arm around her mum's waist. "There you are, Rosie. I was just telling him, all blokes are the same."

"Yes, they are, Mum." Rose was unable to keep the laugh from her voice but Jackie didn't notice. "Why don't we go get us a stiff black coffee?" She threw an apologetic glance towards Jack as she led Jackie away and he mouthed back to her that it was okay.

Everyone knew you didn't put Jackie Tyler in a room with free liquor and expect great results.

"Really, though. Why _are _you here?" A voice at his elbow asked and he turned to face Mickey. "Why did you come back and not him, I mean?"

"There was a…battle," Jack said slowly. "The Doctor sent Rose home."

"Right, I knew that part."

"And I…survived. I don't think he did."

"The Doctor died?" A look of awe crossed the younger man's face and Jack could understand it. Who would think that someone like the Doctor would be killed in something as mundane as a battle?

"I think so. I couldn't find him, on any account, when I woke up."

And then a thought struck him. A thought that started a buzzing in his brain.

What if the Doctor wasn't there because he'd never been there?

He thought back to his calculations and his tests and everything the Doctor had taught him in the few months they'd been together.

Time was cyclical. Constantly changing, constantly reforming as everyone with time changed and reformed.

Maybe when he'd woken up, he hadn't actually been at the Game Station in 200,100. He'd been on a station, certainly. But it would explain why there had been more bodies than people he remembered fighting with.

And it would explain why he hadn't been able to find the Doctor's body.

Because he hadn't ever actually been there.

He glanced up at Rose sharply and she turned and looked at him, waving distractedly before turning back to the uncle she was speaking to.

Maybe somehow, things had gotten mixed up. And he'd come back to Rose, but he came back to her before the timelines had shifted.

Which meant there was only one thing he could do. One thing he had to do. Or he didn't know what sort of paradox it would create.

Paradoxes were the Doctor's forte, not his.

He was going to have to royally fuck with the timeline. He just hoped the Doctor would forgive him for it, someday. And understand.

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_R&R, please, if you have the time... final chapter next!_


	8. A New Beginning

A/N: Ah, the end. I was particularly pleased with how this turned out, but that may just be me. Actually, it probably is just me. Oh well.

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Rose Tyler opened the door to her small, modest flat and let herself inside, locking it behind her. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hook by the door before toeing out of her stilettos.

Glancing in the mirror over the little hall table, she studied her light brown hair. The roots weren't heinous, but they were beginning to show and now that she'd noticed them, it would bother her until she got around to fixing it.

One of these days she was going to give up and just dye her hair that deep, chocolate brown she'd been unfortunately graced with, just to save the trouble.

At least it wasn't blonde, like she'd had it for a few years when she was younger. The colour had looked decent enough on her, but looking back she'd looked a bit…well, cheap. And the upkeep had been murder.

Bending, she picked up her shoes and headed into her bedroom to change from the suit to her sweats and fuzzy socks. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail as she walked into the kitchen and opened the door to the fridge, holding it open with her hip as she finished putting her hair back.

There was disturbingly little in the fridge to eat for supper and she remembered suddenly that she had decided to go grocery shopping. After changing into jeans and throwing on a hoodie, she grabbed her bag and left her flat. She walked down the sidewalk to the corner chippie and stood the queue, waiting for her chance to order her meal.

The salt and vinegar scents that wafted up every time a plate of chips was served and passed across the counter made her stomach growl loudly, and it was only getting louder. Belatedly, she remembered she hadn't eaten since—

Suddenly, her heart was in her throat, conveniently positioned just above the barrel of a pistol being held under her chin. Her assailant's other arm came around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and she looked around wildly as the chip shop broke out in shouts and screams.

"Don't move or she gets it!" A high-pitched, whiny voice shouted out, at least a metre above her head.

Oh, great. Not only was she going to die in a chip shop, which would certainly be her life's greatest achievement, she was going to be killed by a freak of an alien that spoke in a falsetto with an East Indian accent.

"Oi! Where'd you get that line? Eastenders, a bank robbery scene, maybe? Or one of those old American Spaghetti Westerns?" A tall, lanky man stepped out of the crowd and Rose's jaw dropped a bit, as much as the pistol holding her in place would allow.

Hello? She was about to die and he was making fun of the alien's _dialogue_?

"I do not know what spaggretti is. Move again and she gets it!" Incredulous, Rose watched as the man rolled his piercing, ice-blue eyes before standing hip shot, long arms crossing over his broad chest.

"Kill her if you want, I don't care." The man shrugged carelessly and Rose glared at him as the alien tightened his grip around her. She began to struggle, letting out a wordless cry when the pistol was shoved painfully into her voice box and swallowing hard. She kept struggling.

"Although—" the man's Northern accent boomed across the nearly silent crowd and Rose stilled slightly. "You could just ask for whatever you want and let everyone go."

"This is how humans do this, alien. They threaten others of their species to procure that which they attempt to own without rightful ownership." Rose blinked and turned slightly to looking up at the sticky purple alien holding her.

What?

"That's just on telly. You don't think telly is real, do you?" The man clucked his tongue and Rose felt her temper rising again. "Usually, they really dislike being held hostage by smelly, melodramatic Caribdai shoving blasters in their necks. Just to let you know."

"If they give me what I ask for, I let the unclean human go."

"Un_clean_!" Rose shrieked, voice hoarse, struggling anew. "Like you have a bleeding right to call _me_—" The pistol moved to her temple, the alien's arm that had been around her waist now around her throat, forcing her to gag her last words. She gripped the tightly muscled forearm and dragged her nails down it, attempting to free herself.

"Do you see, alien? This works much better when you kill them."

"Right. Bye, then." The man flicked a glance at her, their eyes connecting for a split second and Rose felt something spark in her brain before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Rose was sure she had blacked out for a minute because the next thing she remembered, the putrid-smelling alien that was bleeding putrid-smelling black blood all over her from the gouges she'd inflicted in his…her…it's… arm was waving the pistol wildly, causing other patrons to scream and dive for cover.

It seemed like the crowd was smaller, but then there were also black spots across her vision from the lack of air so her abilities at counting at the moment were unreliable. The alien was screaming at the servers behind the glass-fronted bar, demanding…vinegar--

The goddamned alien was holding her hostage for _vinegar_?

--when a huge explosion rocked the opposite end of the chippie. The room shook around them, black smoke immediately filling the area, bits of plaster and wood falling to the floor in the sudden darkness. She felt something heavy hit her shoulder and the alien lost his grip on her.

Suddenly, she realised that his her it's arm had been the only thing holding her up as she slammed into the ground. Groaning, she shook her head, reaching up to rub her eyes when a hand grabbed her arm.

Suddenly, the man that had taunted her captor was there, crouching in front of her.

"Can you walk?" He asked hurriedly. Climbing to her knees, testing the strength of her legs, she let him pull her to her feet and nodded.

"Good." He gripped her hand and tugged hard, taking off. "Run!"

_fin_

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_R&R, please. Sequel?_


End file.
